


Withdrawal

by MXGHTYSHVLD



Series: Marlboro Men [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Hurt Greg Lestrade, John is Feeling Better, John is a Bit Not Good, M/M, Marlboro Men AU, No Mary Morstan, One Shot Collection, One-Sided Sherlock Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes is a good friend, Sherlock came back, a sequel but not really, dark au, greg is not, more cigarettes, not for john though, things are a bit not good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 17:56:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15587487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MXGHTYSHVLD/pseuds/MXGHTYSHVLD
Summary: “You must stop smoking soon, detective inspector. Those things will kill you...but you don't mind, do you?"- self-de·struc·tionˌselfdəˈstrəkSH(ə)nnounbehavior that causes serious harm to oneself.(some people recover quicker than others.)





	Withdrawal

**Author's Note:**

> a follow up to Trembling and Nervous.

“Lestrade, how have you been?”

He looks up from his coffee mug as Sherlock Holmes breezes into his office. Two months have passed since the consulting detective returned to the land of the living (earning himself a decent right hook from his detective inspector) and yet the sight of him strolling around without a single scratch still manages to render Lestrade speechless every time.

“Lestrade?”  
“Yeah, Sherlock, I’ve been good, thanks.” He says with some trepidation. Nothing has been the same since Sherlock’s return. Not work, not home life. John disappeared from his spare room and moved back into 221B, and seems to be returning to feeling with a vigour. Greg, on the other hand, still jumps out of bed, cold sweat and fists clenched.  
He supposes having the man whose corpse haunted your nightmares safe in your bed makes things a little easier. Maybe he’ll ask John if he can share.

“John mentioned he hadn’t heard from you in a few days, asked if I’d pop by to check in.”  
“You’re here on a social visit?”  
“Mm.”  
silence. Greg blinks his way through the lie.  
“The cold case files are in the filing cabinet over there.”  
“Thank you.”  
As Sherlock fulfills his actual purpose for his visit to the Serious Crimes office, Greg knocks his cold coffee back and itches for a Marlboro.  
“You must stop smoking soon, detective inspector. Those things will kill you.”  
“What?”  
Lestrade watches as long, pale fingers flip through the heavy card of the police files.  
“Don’t make me repeat myself, Lestrade. You know what I said.”  
His stomach feels cold. When was the last time he ate? Yesterday? Wednesday? He wishes Sherlock would stop looking at him like that.  
“But you don’t mind, do you?”  
“I-“

Greg has nothing to say.

Sherlock puts the case file in his bag and approaches the desk. Grabs his arm, pulls up his shirt cuffs, examines his wrists.  
He can’t move. Can barely swallow.

“Getting a bit thin, aren’t we, Lestrade? Tuesday’s meal is no good on a Friday.”  
“You’re thinner than me.”  
“I’m a recovering cocaine addict.”  
Sherlock’s hand moves to his face and he is completely frozen.

Fuck.

“You’re unwell, Graham.” A cold finger lands on his jaw, moving his head up to check his neck. What for, he has no idea.  
“Greg.”  
As quick as it came the hand is gone. Greg Lestrade does not know how to make his limbs move.  
“Go home, Lestrade. You can’t support the entire yard if you’re dying. Which you shouldn’t aim for, by the way.” He turns to take his leave. The detective inspector’s teeth are grinding.  
“John would be most upset. He told me you two have grown close in my absence.”  
Oh. This was a social after all.

Sherlock would do anything for John.

The resurrected corpse stops as he reaches the door.  
“And, I too, would be rather put out..if something were to befall you.”  
Oh.  
Oh.

Fuck.

“Right,” Greg murmurs. “Thank you, Sherlock, I’ll keep that in mind.”  
“Please do, as I stated, I will not repeat myself.”  
“But you just di-“  
“Goodbye, Lestrade.”  
And then he is gone, a blur behind the frosted glass of his door.

He knows that this is not the end of this conversation. Knows that if he does not return home that suddenly he will be given the week off for no reason, knows that within the next 4 hours John will call, telling him he’s on the way, he’ll be there soon, over with groceries and that he better not be at the yard and why didn’t he say anything?

-“Greg why didn’t you say anything you could have told me why didn’t you say anything”-

He misses John’s voice.

“It would never have been you, you know”  
Lestrade jumps out of his skin, knocking over his mug and disturbing the pile of paperwork on his desk.  
Sherlock Holmes lounges in a plastic chair in the corner of the room. Not the new and improved, living Sherlock Holmes, no. This is the Old Sherlock.  
The dead one.

His office floor is getting soaked with blood.

“It couldn’t have been you, for John. Or for me. But you know that, don’t you Lestrade?”  
He sits back down. Cradles his head in his hands.  
“I know.”  
“Good,” he purrs, approaching and landing lightly on his desk. “My clever Detective Inspector.”  
“Please stop. You’re not dead anymore. Please go away.”

Bony fingers play with his shirt cuffs. Circle his wrists.  
“Not long now, a few more weeks at most,” croons the baritone voice.  
“I’m going to get better.”  
“No, you’re not.”

Greg doesn’t go home, he falls asleep at his desk after closing and when John comes and wakes him up he finds it worryingly difficult.  
They drive home in silence and he pretends it’s the bad old days, that they’re exhausted and broken but it’s mutual, they’re one unit, he pretends they rely on each other equally. Lestrade’s hands shake as he unlocks the front door. He doesn’t expect he will last long.  
Both Sherlocks are there to greet them. Funny that, in the dark he’s having troubles remembering which is which.


End file.
